Frozen Fire
by AnnaRinzler
Summary: The  full  story of Loki and his best friend Sól, the Norse goddess of the sun, up until the end of "Thor". Movie-compliant, Loki/Sól. The one shots are now under a separate story.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Thor or anything from Norse Mythology._

She didn't understand much at her young age. The three-year-old didn't understand the need to dress up in stiff, formal clothes so that her parents could walk around the palace of Asgard and laugh and smile at people she didn't know, or the need to bow and curtsy in front of the king and queen so many times. Lady Frigga held a black-haired baby that everyone seemed excited over, but that she could hardly see even if she stood on the toes of her small green shoes. All-in-all, it was a dreadfully boring affair.

"_Ow!" _

Sól rapidly fell down on her backside with a small thump and a sharp pain in the back of her head. She jerked around and pressed a hand to her red braid, watching a laughing blond as he ran away from her into the crowd.

"My son has no sense of chivalry," a wry voice said in front of her, and Sól turned to see Odin tugging on her hand to help her up.

"Thanks," she replied automatically, the small courtesy put into her by her father.

She studied his eye patch. It was different than the silver one he normally wore. This one was gold and had more etchings on it. But Sól had never really seen it very closely.

"Odin!" Sól's mother exclaimed, rushing over to them in a flurry of red skirts, "I'm so sorry, is Sól bothering you?"

"Not at all," the king replied, standing up and gesturing to his wife while Sól craned her neck to look up at him, "We were just catching up."

She really didn't know what any of it meant. Sól wished that her father wasn't so far away, on the other side of the room with her older sister. He'd always held her up so she could see everyone properly at other parties. Frigga, fairly glowing in a light blue dress, her golden hair tumbling down her back, knelt in front of Sól with her baby.

"Hello darling," Frigga said, smiling gently down at Sól, who easily mirrored the look.

She liked Frigga. Odin seemed nice, but Frigga had hair like her mother's and didn't wear hard, shiny metal clothes all of the time. Of course, what Sól wasn't sure about was the baby in the queen's arms. It was very tiny and very quiet and its eyes were so blue that they were almost white.

"This is my son, Loki," she continued, holding the baby closer to her.

"He's small," Sól said matter-of-factly, warily studying Loki's short, sparse black hair.

"He's almost three years younger than you," Frigga laughed, exchanging a smile with Sól's mother, "He'll grow up. We believe Loki has a great magical gift like you do. Perhaps you two could become friends."

"Thor and Sif get along nicely," Odin commented, "They're both warriors, even at their young ages. A consequence of having myself and Forseti for fathers, I suppose."

Sól wasn't really listening to the adults. She was already bored with everything. The people in the room were starting to move around and talk and laugh, and she looked behind the king and queen to see if she could spot her father or sister. Two blonde heads darted in and out of the crowd as their owners chased each other. Sif and Thor had always been friends, even though he pulled on Sól's hair whenever he had the chance and left Sif's blond tresses alone. It wasn't fair that her sister had a best friend and she didn't, and she couldn't be friends with a baby.

**Author's Note: Due to a number of messages I've received, I'm expanding my story and making it full-length. It'll stop when the movie does, as I'm going to wait for the sequel to make it canon-compliant. Also, sorry if the prologue sucks. I haven't been three for quite a long time. .**


	2. The Early Years

**The Early Years**

In time, Sól grew to understand more, as children tend to do. By the age of ten she understood that her father was an important general, and that her family was privileged enough to live in the great palace of Asgard. It was understood that because Forseti was a general and not a common soldier, his eldest daughter would be given the privilege to prove herself a warrior. It was also understood that his youngest daughter, though she showed great magical prowess and might someday enter the magical Academy, had certain "duties" and "obligations" that were non-negotiable.

"I'm not going."

"You are going," her mother replied serenely, folding her arms across her chest, "This is your tenth birthday party. It is a very important milestone. I don't see why you're so nervous, it isn't as if all of Asgard will be here."

"I am not _nervous_."

Sól turned away from the door to scan the receiving room with worry, Naturally, it wasn't as big as the throne room or even some of the ceremonial halls, but it was still large, empty, and imposing. Some of the tables had already been set up for the occasion and for the moment held only large centerpieces. The heavy, maroon drapes were currently tied up to let light flood in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Try to look less morose, darling. All of your friends will be here. Even Loki is coming, though your father made him swear he wouldn't enchant the punch to turn everyone's mouth blue this year."

Smiling at the ghost of the good memory, Sól walked outside of the room into to study herself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors along the walls of the great hallway. She'd been a bit shorter a year ago, and hadn't been wearing a green dress with her hair in a bun. She'd been wearing a blue one and her hair had been left down. And Loki had gotten the idea from her dress, as a way to "liven" the party up. He'd simply spoken a few words to the punch flowing out of the small table fountain and it had turned the tongue of everyone who drank it as blue as her outfit. Later Forseti had talked to her about "being a nuisance" though she'd had nothing to do with it. Loki had said that his father gave him the same talk.

"Have at thee, Frost Giant!"

Sól backed up against the wall as Sif, long blond braids streaking out behind her, sprinted past with Thor hot on her heels. Sif was laughing with glee, a wooden practice sword clutched in her hand as Thor raised another high over his head. The sound of wood on wood echoed dully in the great hall and Sól's mother ran out of the room toward the crown prince and Sif. When she left Sól quickly ran back in, clambering down into the small space between one of the tables and the corner. She could sink down and hide behind the curtain and the table and be almost completely invisible. It didn't occur to her that a missing guest of honor might put a bit of a damper on the night's occasion, and the thought of hiding out all night was an appealing one. For a few moments Sól sat comfortably and listened as the war cry of Fandral mingled in with her sister's and Thor's voices. Apparently Sól's mother hadn't managed to get any of them to be quiet yet, or to come down off of their post-sparring high from the afternoon's lesson, even though it had been hours earlier and they were now all formally dressed. Before she could properly meditate on how annoyingly loud Thor and his friends were, a black-haired boy clad in olive green streaked into the room. He stood still for a moment, nervous blue eyes darting around the room before zeroing in on her hiding place. Running toward her corner, he threw back the curtain and stopped short of getting down on his hands and knees when he saw her.

"You can't hide here Sól."

The thin, solemn little boy looked down at the redhead with a pompous expression on his face. Lately he'd gotten bossier and more impatient, as if he had woken up one day and suddenly realized that he was a prince. But it wasn't as if she was a servant, he had no right to talk to her that way.

"Why not?" Sól asked crossly, wrinkling up her freckled nose, "I was here first. Besides, this is _my_ tenth birthday party I'm avoiding."

"Well—well, I was going to hide here," he retorted, "And _I_ am a prince of Asgard. You are a soldier's daughter."

"A general's," Sól snapped, standing up in the small space between the table and the wall as she threw the curtain previously concealing her aside, "You know that my father Forseti has ridden with your father Odin into many battles"—

He heard female voices in the hallway and Loki's eyes widened. Now they were both exposed. Quick as a flash, he grabbed her wrist and pulled Sól down with him, both of them crawling under the heavy tablecloth and waiting with bated breath. The feet of two women she didn't recognize soon came into view. The pair was chatting idly and paused inside for a moment before walking out and Loki sighed with relief without moving from his position under the table. After a few long seconds of silence he turned and looked at Sól, who was biting her lip and toying with one of her large emerald earrings.

"Why are _you _hiding, anyway? It's your party."

"Doesn't matter," Sól replied darkly, "I don't want everyone staring at me and waiting for me to mess up or worse, going on about how perfect my sister is."

Despite her obsession with war and fighting, people who approved were proud of fourteen-year-old Sif and not afraid to mention it. She was tall and beautiful and fierce and had inherited their mother's long blond hair. Sól had gotten wavy red hair instead. Everyone said that it was a good omen for a magician to have red hair, but sometimes she would have preferred to have been born with her mother's blond hair and her father's brown eyes, like Sif.

"I guess," Loki replied finally, grudgingly admitting to the truth in her words, but you will have to go out there eventually."

"Why, so your brother can smack me with those practice weapons? No thank you."

"It isn't my fault Thor acts like a rampaging animal," he defensively responded, "Besides, _your_ sister is the one who keeps swinging that wooden staff around. I hate practicing with her when she has a real one. It has spikes on it."

The pair fell silent and watched the feet of various people come in and out of the room. Most were servants carrying trays of food or centerpieces. Sól propped up her head with her hand and glanced over at Loki, who was surveying the scene with a bored expression. She sometimes forgot how different they were. Of course they had the same magical tutors, but while she was studying runes in the afternoon or taking leisure time, Loki was hard at work studying the combat arts. It was the reason he had a better grip on his magic than she did. Besides that, Sól had almost no fighting skills to speak of. Loki showed her a bit of what he learned sometimes before class, but he would probably always outdo the other magical students, at least until it came time for them all to enter the Academy.

"Father's coming!" Loki hissed, as Odin walked into the room with Thor.

Sól thought that they were surely done for, but the ruler of Asgard was talking amicably with his eldest son and seemed to have no intention of finding her hiding place.

"But Father, my aim has gotten _much _better," Thor said excitedly, "Even since last week"—

"I know it has," Odin said with a chuckle, holding up the wooden practice sword he had confiscated from Thor, "Just make sure that you and the young Lady Sif keep your war games in the practice hall where they belong from now on."

"We will Father!" The boy replied earnestly, taking the sword and sprinting out the door while Odin watched and shook his head.

"Sparring in the palace proper," Loki hissed, his voice dripping with venom, "Of course _he_ gets away with it. Father would kill me for something like that."

As if he overheard their conversation, Odin turned to look at their hiding place and walked slowly toward the table. Loki and Sól attempted to back up but they couldn't move any farther back than the wall and Odin lifted up the tablecloth to reveal them both.

"Hello Father," Loki said meekly.

"Hello Loki," Odin replied, "I assume you're ready for the celebration if you're already here? Your arrival is a bit early, you know."

"I am ready," he responded, scrambling out from under the table, "I was just"—

"About to help your friend up?" Odin interrupted, raising one eyebrow as he jerked his head toward Sól, who was already moving to rise.

"Oh—right."

The expression on his face said that he was about to do nothing of the sort, but Loki stiffly stuck one of his arms out to her and Sól grudgingly took the proffered hand. It was only because Odin was there, otherwise she would have gotten up herself.

"Thanks," she said shortly, adjusting her dress and looking down.

"Welcome," Loki muttered under his breath, immediately pulling his hand away.

"Are you ready for tonight, Sól?"

"Well…I…"—

"Allfather, Lady Frigga wishes to speak to you," a servant said, walking briskly up to Odin and giving him a deep bow, "She is in the observatory."

"I am on my way now," Odin replied, "And Loki, you may stay here with Sól. The pair of you can keep each other company before the party. I'll send for your mother."

"Oh…thank you," Sól replied, forcing herself to smile while Loki could do nothing but let out a frustrated little sigh and hang his head.

"This is your fault," Loki said when Odin was out of earshot.

"I know," Sól gloomily replied, mentally steeling herself for the most awkward night of her young life.

**Author's Note: **So I'm quickly finding out that the first few chapters of this story are going to be fluffy and basically non-substantial, and for that I apologize. If it's any consolation, I'm probably only going to do three more chapters where they're younger and set the next ones in "movie present day" and make Loki 21 and Sól is 24. I'm done rambling now, thanks for reading and please review! I can't tell if people like this story or not if you do!


	3. When Life Gets in the Way

**When Life Gets in the Way**

"Sól! WHERE IN ODIN'S NAME ARE YOU? I'M GOING TO FEED YOU TO THE FROST GIANTS, YOU MISERABLE GIRL!"

She lay in bed with her eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling. The fifteen-year-old's heart tapped quickly against her chest, each beat lighter than the last, as if she were a frightened rabbit being pursued by a hunter. The soft blue comforter was pulled up to her chin and the sun's morning rays were just starting to peek in through the windows. It wasn't fair that she had to die on such a pretty day.

"Sól!"

With an almighty _boom _the heavy wooden doors to her bedroom swung open and crashed against the walls. Her little gasp was swallowed up by the echoing sound they made and Sif ran to her bed with a snarl on her face.

"Get up!" She howled, yanking back the covers and fishing around for Sif's arm, "I know you're responsible for this! I know it!"

"_What? _I do not know what you are"—

"My hair, you little monster!" Sif screeched.

Yanking her little sister out of the bed by her elbow, Sif grabbed Sól by the shoulders and stared into her eyes, murderous rage written across her face.

"Your _hair," _Sól gasped, staring up at her sister's dark locks, "It's"—

"Black as tar!"

"But _why? _Did you dye it? And—_cut _it?"

"No!" Her sister snarled, Sól's dumfounded expression apparently negating some of the hatred Sif felt toward her, "Someone's cut it off and turned it black by magic!"

Her heart dropped. She knew who without even having to ask. She should have recognized it immediately—Loki's hair sat atop Sif's head instead of the older girl's own waves of shimmering gold. Sif looked even more frightening with black hair and eyebrows than she ever had with blond hair, though her expression was turning more and more puzzled and less and less angry with every passing second.

"Sif, I _swear, _I didn't do it," Sól stated truthfully, "And I didn't have anything _to_ _do_ with it."

"But you are the only—_LOKI!" _Sif screamed, shoving her little sister back and sprinting out the door again, "Loki I am going to slay you where you stand, COWARD!"

Stumbling backward until she was forced to sit on the bed, Sól watched Sif run away as the doors slammed shut behind her. For a few seconds she simply sat there, breathing heavily, before beginning to feel self-conscious. Smoothing down her own (intact hair, still snug in its braid, Sól adjusted the white shift she had slept in and slid back into the bed, shivering and sliding the covers back over her before turning over and looking at the pillows strewn over the other side of the bed.

"How _could _you?" She asked the pillows, which promptly fell to the floor as the sheets flipped over to reveal a nearly-suffocated Loki.

"It was a _joke," _he panted, "Much like the idea that anyone could hide or sleep under _these_ and not die of heatstroke or want of _air."_

He flailed around some more in the covers before tossing them off and propping himself up on top of some of her pillows.

"I do not care one bit if this was a joke! Fix it!"

"That is the problem. I am not sure, or completely sure, that I _can _undo what's been done."

"It is far too early in the morning for me to have to deal with this," Sól groaned, "And what do you mean you cannot undo what's been done?"

"I meant to use magic to _cut _her hair, while keeping her asleep, you see, but instead I both cut it and turned it precisely the same shade as my own…Sif _does _have some small, limited amount of magical heritage and I believe it interfered with"—

"Yes, fine," Sól snapped, "Fine. But how, pray tell, are you going to keep away from Sif? She will snap your neck the instant she lays eyes upon you."

"I thought I could hide here with you for awhile," Loki replied innocently, "Since you were kind enough to rescue me from her wrath in the first place."

She rolled her eyes as Loki gave her what he probably thought was an engaging smile. He'd snuck into her bedroom a few minutes before Sif had. Sól had woken up to the unpleasant feeling of being forcibly shaken back into consciousness, with the pleading sound of _"Wake up, hurry!" _being urgently whispered in her ear. She'd been so flustered and mortified at the fact that he was in her bedroom at such an early hour that she'd agreed to hide him. Sól hadn't really thought about the fact that her bed was the optimal place to hide in such a situation.

"Are you taking breakfast in your rooms today? I am _extremely_ hungry," Loki said with a yawn, stretching out and putting his hands behind his head as if he belonged there.

"There should be a cart outside now," she responded, "But _I_ have to get dressed first."

Throwing off the coverlet, Sól silently wondered at her choice of companions. Perhaps a thirteen-year-old wasn't the greatest option for a close friend, especially since said friend had such a penchant for annoying her older sister. She walked to the bureau across from her bed, rummaging around amongst the plain, everyday slips and gowns until she found a simple light blue dress that reached the floor. A quick glance back at Loki revealed that he was occupying himself by plucking at the gold tassels on one of her decorative pillows, so she quickly slid open the next drawer and grabbed the necessary undergarments before walking behind the wooden dressing partition that was typically used just for show. When she emerged, dressed for the day, Loki was dozing off.

"Wake up," Sól said, nudging him, "You're the one who forfeited your night hours to play a prank on my sister, you don't get to make up for lost sleep in my bed."

She already felt like they were doing something terribly wrong. Of course neither set of parents would approve in the slightest and Sól and Loki would probably both be punished if they were ever found out, but it wasn't as if anything was happening, at least nothing that her parents would suspect was happening. She'd always been told to keep a "proper distance" between herself and the "young gentlemen" at the palace, and violating one of her mother's cardinal rules put Sól a bit on edge.

"I don't see why not," he grumbled, "Even if it is a bit hard to sleep around all of these ornate pillows you seem to be so fond of."

Sól let out a sigh as her uneasiness faded into exasperation. It was only Loki, after all.

"I thought you were hungry," she said, tugging on his arm.

"Alright, alright," Loki groaned, "I'll get the breakfast cart."

He walked to the doors and flicked his hand in the air. They swung open of their own accord, and swung closed when he returned with breakfast at sat back down on the bed. The pair of them made short work of the food, though there was enough for both of them even though it was only meant to feed Sól and Loki had to use a spoon instead of a fork due to the lack of silverware.

"So why did you do it, anyway?" Sól asked, popping the last grape into her mouth.

"The idea just occurred to me," he replied, averting his gaze, "Of course it has been a long time coming. And you have said that she talks incessantly about it. At least now she won't."

In an extremely twisted way, the words were a bit touching. Obviously Sif was an irritant to Loki in her own right, but Sól had complained to him about how vain she was of her hair on more than one occasion. He smoothed his hand over his own slicked-back hair, apparently lost in thought.

"Well. At any rate, we'll have to leave my chambers sometime," Sól began, after sitting a few moments in silence.

"I know where we can go!" Loki replied, his blue eyes lighting up, "Father has brought back two new relics and put them in the weapons vault. I'd like to see them. And besides, your sister would never think to look there for us."

"Loki, I am not at all sure about this. I have never been to"—

"I'll show you everything. Come on!"

Loki jumped off of the bed and tugged on her hand, attempting to pull the older girl off of the bed. He was shorter and smaller, but she finally relented and allowed herself to be dragged out of the room.

"What shall we do if we run into my sister?" Sól whispered as they skulked through the halls.

"We could fight her," Loki replied in a determined voice, "I am sure that we could beat her."

"Yes, but could we beat _Thor? _And Hogun, and Fandral, and"—

"Of course," he responded, bristling at the very suggestion, "Of course we could."

Of course they couldn't. Together Loki and Sól could probably beat Thor on a bad day if he happened to be stricken down with some terrible magical illness. Not that it hadn't happened before, but all Loki had done was magicked him into a sneezing fit until his nose bled. And _that _had easily been sorted out.

After some time of walking through the palace on the lookout for anyone who might want to cause them grievous bodily harm, they came to a set of double doors manned by four guards.

"Just act like you own the place," Loki hissed in her ear, grabbing Sól's hand and squaring his shoulders.

The guards didn't move. They typically never did unless they were patrolling the hallways, but she nonetheless held her breath as she and Loki walked up to the ornate double doors.

"_A Prince of Asgard commands you to open," _he whispered, letting go of her hand as he walked through the opening doors.

Sól trailed in behind him. The room was relatively narrow and long and made entirely of stone. A dais and a set of stairs led down into the main part of the hall, which was as silent as a tomb and held all sorts of glowing relics. She'd heard of them of course, and now here they were. Warily glancing behind at the slowly-shutting doors, Sól advanced down the dais as Loki did. The place was as silent as a crypt. She could practically feel the magic in the room, making her skin tingle. Loki seemed perfectly at ease.

"Look," her friend said, placing a hand at the small of her back and steering her over to one of the pedestals, "My father just brought it back. It's Mjǫlnir."

"But I thought it was lost," Sól replied curiously, eyeing the shining silver metal of the hammer.

"Father brought it back," Loki replied matter-of-factly, moving along down the rows of relics.

"Draupnir… Lævateinn…Ridill," she muttered to herself, getting within a few inches of each piece before backing away. She didn't have to be told not to touch anything.

"Look," Thor's younger brother stated, pointing to yet another pedestal, where a gold necklace lay gleaming in the light that trickled down.

"Brísingamen."

"Yes," he responded, "Do you know much about it?"

"Its magic will only work for a woman," Sól murmured, staring at the large red stone in the center of the necklace.

"That's right."

She glanced over at him to find that he was already looking at her with a serious expression on his face. Eventually Loki broke the gaze and studied the necklace for another moment before turning and walking toward the center of the hall.

"Well. Perhaps someone will come along who can put the necklace to good use."

"Perhaps," Sól replied idly, casting one last glance its way before following Loki up to the Casket of Ancient Winters.

But her friends gaze wasn't on the casket. His steely blue eyes were fixed beyond it, into the glowing white light.

"The Destroyer is behind the gate," he said, turning to gauge her reaction.

"You mean—it stays right _there?"_

"Oh yes," he replied, seemingly pleased with her wide-eyed nervousness, "Just beyond the bars. But of course, it only does Father's bidding. It comes out when it is called and goes back it once its job is complete. And I hardly think that father would summon it because we decided to tour the weapons vault."

"Of course," she replied warily, "But I still feel as if we shouldn't be here."

"You can feel it too, can't you? There's so much power in this room…all these artifacts," Loki said, turning around in a circle to take in everything.

They both flinched and looked to the doors as they slowly opened. Sól waited with apprehension to see if it was Odin, come to punish them for "breaking in" without his permission. But no, it was Sif, which was almost worse. She wore a haughty look on her face and was dressed for the day, clad in full armor. Her newly-black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Mother wishes to speak with you," Sif began, shooting Loki an angry glare before turning back to her sister, "Presumably about getting your dress fitted for tomorrow's banquet."

"Who let you in?" Sól asked curiously.

"Thor did," her older sister replied shortly, "And he wishes to speak to _Loki_ about today's sparring match."

The three of them were silent for a few awkward seconds. Thankfully Loki had the common sense to keep any snide comments he had about Sif's hair to himself.

"So…" Sól tentatively began.

"I will remember this, Loki Odinsson," Sif snapped, pointing at her hair, "Even though I am keeping it for now."

"You _are?" _the younger pair asked in unison.

"Yes," the elder girl sniffed, "Thor has said that it makes me look more intimidating and angry during combat."

"_Sif, are you almost ready?" _

They heard Fandral's voice call out into the chamber and without another word Sól's sister ran back up the stairs to join her friends. Loki and Sól stayed in stunned silence for a moment before Loki apparently couldn't stand it anymore.

"I suppose if Thor says it, then it _must _be true," he said snidely, "After all, that is what my brother is known for. His _intelligence_."

"You should feel lucky," Sól admonished, "For a moment I thought that Asgard was about to lose one of its princes."

"Call it luck, then," he replied, running up the stairs, "I'll live to see another day."

The pair of them ran up the stairs and out of the weapons vault. The doors opened and closed behind them, the same immobile guards standing passively at the entrance. Sól threw one last look back into the chamber as the ominous, magical feeling she had in the back of her mind slowly faded away.


	4. Growing Pains Part I

**Growing Pains (Part 1)**

"This is _interminable_."

Sól looked down at her friend and rolled her eyes. She may have agreed, but the dance wasn't made any less vexing by the growing number of complaints issuing from her friend's mouth. Loki had decided for the both of them to give up formality and poise and had his hands positioned somewhat slackly around her waist, while Sól's own hands were draped around his shoulders as they half-heartedly swayed to the slow music. The older couples were still perfectly poised and rigid as they danced, her mother and father included. But it was somewhat more difficult for the teenaged set, particularly for partners like Sól and Loki. She was at least three inches taller than he was and had to lean down to reach him. Meanwhile she was entirely self-conscious about the fact that she didn't have an actual waist for him to rest his hands on, just a continuation of her narrow torso. The dress she'd agreed to wear had a lace-up corset in the back, which Sól had hoped would at least give her the semblance of a figure, but alas. She was out of breath and miserable in the gown, and as tight as it was it didn't even create the illusion that she had hips.

Out of the corner of her eye Sól could see her parents floating through the crowd with perfect ease, and it was not for the first time that Sól wished she had inherited at least of modicum of her mother's easy grace. Or that she had not let Loki convince her to sneak away from quite so many dance lessons. With this thought she glanced back at Loki only to find his thin lips pursed into a frown. He was looking to his left, green eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, but other than these tell-tale signs of exasperation his features were smoothed over into an expressionless mask. Had she been anyone else Sól might not have noticed that something was amiss in Loki's countenance. But she followed the line of his angry stare until it reached Thor. Odin's eldest was talking amicably with his father, the hammer _Mjölnir_ held firmly in his grasp. A constant stream of people moved around the pair of them, eager to clap Thor on the back and congratulate him about the trophy he had been clutching all night. The party, the dancing, it was all for him. All for Thor, who had been entrusted with one of his father's precious relics of war on the eve of his nineteenth birthday. Judging by the slowly-tightening grip around Sól's waist, Thor's fourteen-year-old brother wasn't quite as keen to celebrate as the rest of Asgard.

"Loki," she hissed, "_Loki_, the dress is tight enough as it is."

"Sorry," he replied, quickly snatching his hands away from her and standing stock-still in the middle of the room, a befuddled look on his face as if he'd just woken from a trance.

"Do you want to leave? I am sure we will not be missed so late into the celebration."

"You're right," Loki replied darkly, casting one last disapproving glance toward Thor, "We won't be missed."

They couldn't dart through the crowd like children anymore, hands linked as they blew past anyone and everyone. Their escape was subtle and slow, and they managed to restrain themselves from running out into the palace's main hallway.

"You have to unlace me," Sól groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach.

The younger boy's blue eyes widened in alarm as his mouth fell open. He was clearly searching for something to say, apparently having no idea what she was talking about.

"_Excuse me?"_

"I can't breathe in this attire, I don't care about phrasing my requests in a genteel manner," she continued in irritation, turning around and sweeping her red hair off of her back to reveal the ribbon laced in the dress from her collarbone to her hips.

"Very well," he muttered, setting tentative hands at her back, "I can't really—someone's tied this into a _very _difficult knot."

"Just cut it then," Sól sighed, "I don't need it anymore."

"Very well," Loki said eagerly, needing no further encouragement to pull out one of his throwing knives and slice the ribbon with its razor-sharp edge.

Ever since he'd been introduced to them the knives had never left his side. He had the discipline to practice for hours on end and possessed the natural ability to quickly pick up the art. Besides all that, Odin had given Loki a set of throwing daggers that had belonged to _Odin's _father for Loki's fifteenth birthday. It wasn't on the same level as being bestowed a sacred relic, but Sól hoped that the gift had at least softened the blow of having to endure yet another celebration in honor of Thor.

"Here you are."

"Thank you—oh," Sól laughed, taking the ribbon from Loki's hand, which had turned from its normal blue into a bright, emerald green.

"You're welcome," he replied with a smirk, "Green suits you more than that powder-puff blue."

"I am afraid that Sif chose the color of my dress tonight," Sól responded, unwilling to admit that she had been the one to suggest the corseted top, "There really isn't any accounting for her taste."

"How true," her friends replied, his eyes darkening as the last vestiges of mirth fled from his features.

Lately it had seemed that Loki shut down at any mention of Thor. The problem was only escalating, and speaking about anything (or anyone) even remotely related to his brother was enough to instantly make him moody and withdrawn. Sól had always known that Loki harbored a grudge against Thor, mixed in as it was with feelings of admiration and jealousy, and that made the situation even more complicated.

"Are you ready for tomorrow's journey?"

Sól gave him a small little smile and nodded. Her friend was good, very good, about changing the subject at the exact instant she opened her mouth to say anything. He only did it when she was thinking hard, trying to choose her words carefully to talk to him about something serious. Sól had decided long ago that she must have a tell. That perhaps the look in her eyes changed, or she made a facial expression that gave her away, or shifted on her feet. Whatever the reason, Loki could spot and deflect a serious thought before she'd even had it.

"Yes. I finally have appropriate clothing. Are you ready?"

"I suppose so," he said with a shrug, folding his arms and leaning against the wall, "I was given something called blue jeans to wear. They aren't very durable pants but I suppose they will do for one day's use."

"I am sure they are better than the dress I have," Sól replied darkly.

"Hello Sif," Loki said, his eyes never flickering from Sól's face.

Sól turned to see her older sister exiting the celebration, a disapproving frown beginning to form on her features. Clad in a long maroon dress with an ornate silver collar, Sif walked rigidly up to the pair and her frown deepened.

"You should rejoin the celebration, Sól," Sif said curtly, ignoring Loki, "Mother and father will notice your absence."

"I doubt it," Sól replied snidely, "I believe everyone is too busy ensuring that Thor doesn't swing _Mjölnir around and crack their respective skulls open. If mother and father notice that I've disappeared I shall simply send a double of myself back to dance with a double of Loki and"—_

_"You and I __both _know that you can't create a magical double," Sif scoffed, "And what's more"—

"Before your interruption Sól and I were discussing our plans for tomorrow's journey to Midgard," Loki interjected with a sneer, "I believe our instructors were pondering a trip to Jotunheim when our defensive skills become sufficiently advanced"—

"You _lie!" _Sif cried, her wounded voice echoing around the hallway, "It is _forbidden_ to go to Jotunheim, and besides, nothing interesting lies in Midgard."

Sól could practically see the jealousy leaking from her older sister's every pore. Meanwhile, Loki was in his element. His tone hadn't risen with Sif's escalating frustration and anyone who caught snatches of their conversation could have assumed from his easy bearing and light-hearted voice that he was casually discussing the weather.

"Perhaps nothing interesting lies in Midgard," Loki continued nonchalantly, "But it _will_ be interesting to go through the _Bifröst. Do you think that __your __teachers might take you through it one day? I'm not familiar with the Warrior's Codes and all of that, but surely there are provisions in your curriculum for the people defending Asgard to at least familiarize themselves with Bifröst and the Nine Realms."_

_Sif's face was flushing red with rage, deepening to a color almost indistinguishable from the shade of her dress. Her hands were balled up at her sides, knuckles white, and the struggle to think of a reply was written all over her face. The smile on Loki's face was growing by the second, and Sif's agitation had revived the twinkle in his icy blue eyes. Meanwhile, _Sól's uneasiness about the whole situation was growing. Sól didn't particularly want to think about the power behind the muscles under Sif's dress, nor did she want to imagine the sound one of Loki's daggers would make when it struck flesh.

"I am afraid we must bid you goodnight," he said, breaking the silence, "Sól and I should both rest."

Sól was happy for the excuse to get away, but Sif's eyes narrowed and she looked toward the party before turning her angry brown eyes back at Loki and Sól. Eventually the lady warrior stormed away without saying anything at all, and Sól breathed a sigh of relief.

"Loki"—

"We really _should_ get some sleep."

"Yes, you're right," Sól admitted grudgingly, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, "Although I would sleep with a knife in my hand, if I were you. You never know when my sister might decide to take her revenge."

"I'll see you at dawn," he said with a smirk, giving her a nod before striding off in the direction of his chambers.

Sól suspected that Loki got far more sleep than she did. She tossed and turned all night for a variety of reasons, most of them having to do with her best friend. The first rays of sun found her wide awake, staring up at the ceiling and trying to ignore her gut instinct that trouble was on the horizon.

**Author's Note: I decided to present this chapter in two parts for a variety of reasons. The finished chapter will be 4,000 or so words long, which is pretty damn long, and the next part of it will finish up with the segment of time dealing with . Also, I wanted to hurry up and put this out there so you guys would know I'm not dead. I'm so sorry for not updating! D: Also, I've been seeing people put this story on their author alerts and such, so I think you guys are reading it, but I would also appreciate some constructive criticism or commentary on stuff you like/don't like. Are the chapters long enough? Is the dialogue believable enough? I know I suck at updating, I'll have part 2 of this chapter up soon!**


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